


Poker Night

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Poker and alcohol makes for quite an awesome night.





	Poker Night

Dean fans his cards over the green felt - full house - then leans in over the poker board, uses both hands to sweep in the chips. He’s grinning mirthfully, gives you and Sam a boastful wag of the eyebrows as he raises his beer to his lips. Sam rolls his eyes, downs the last of his own, then hefts to his feet.

“Alright, guys,” he says with a groan, stretching long arms up high above him. “I’m callin’ it. See ya in the morning.”

You and Dean both mutter out a  _night_  and watch the lumbering hunter disappear from the library. “You tired?” you ask Dean over the lip of your Michelob.

“Not a bit,” he says, a glint of mischief in his forest-green eyes.

“What…” you drone, squinting in suspicion.

Dean looks down, thumbnail scratching at the bottle label, then flicks his eyes back up, green darkened to near-charcoal. “You up for a little strip poker?”

Heat flushes up underneath your skin; water just before it comes to a boil.

You and Dean have been dancing around  _something_ for a while now, ever since you’d moved into the bunker after that Wendigo killed your family. You’d barely made it yourself, spent six weeks in the hospital. You still go into a fierce panic at the mention of camping.

It started small, a playful wink here and there, innocent enough that it could easily be misplaced for sibling-like banter. Then it started to escalate; lingering touches, time-stopping smolders. And you’re fairly certain he purposely grazed your ass at the bar last Friday.

But this? This is a whole new game. Pun  _completely_  intended. And you wanthim.

You take a breath to steady your nerves, throw back the rest of your brew, and level your eyes with his.

“I’m game.”

Dean smiles lazy, takes a corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, and deals.

~

Two beers later, you’re down to just your bra and panties, and Dean’s lost both shirts.

“BOOM,” he beams, splaying his winning hand. Royal flush. How in the-

His eyes are bright, even under the glassy film of inebriation. He swipes his tongue over the full curve of his lower lip, arches his brows.

“Shit,” you breathe. “Think I need something stronger than beer…”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, settling back in his chair. He clasps his hands behind his head, let’s his eyes rove over you. Your stomach’s in knots, sweat starting along your hairline. It’s not that you don’t want to do this - it’s just been so  _long_  since you’ve bared yourself to anyone, and this is  _Dean Winchester_ , what if he’s abhorred by what he sees-

“Show me yours and I show you mine?” he offers, brows jumping. You take a breath of courage, and bring your arms behind your back, your chest pushing forward in the process. You feel the clasp give and then your skin is on  _fire_  as you hook your thumbs under the straps, guide them down your arms.

Dean’s eyes go hilariously wide when the cups fall, the cold bunker air breezing over your now-bare breasts.

“Holy shit-” his voice is strangled; raw, breath shallow.. “C-can I…”

“No way!” you bark, clamping both hands over your tits. “Show me yours,  _then_  we’ll talk.”

Dean gives you a closed-lipped smile, then shrugs, pushing up off the table. His eyes are steady on yours as he deftly open his jeans, one hand disappearing into the wide V of dark denim. When it returns, it’s fisting the thick breadth of his cock; half-hard already and you feel an ache quickly blooming deep in your cunt.

“So…” Dean says, voice heavy. “Let’s talk.”

~

It’s not exactly the way you’d imagined ending the night; knees deep into the mattress of Dean’s bed, one wide-fingered hand braced between his open thighs, the other curled firmly around the fat root of his dick; pressing and pulling and pumping-

But you can think of worse ways.

You’re bent over the side of his hips so he can reach between your own legs. He’s two fingers deep in the sloppy mess of your cunt, the calloused heel of his palm rasping over the seam of your ass with every drag of his hand.

Lips tight around the tip of him, you tongue the slit, reveling in the sharp hisses you’re pulling from him. You know full well that you’re overstimulating him - but that’s all part of the game, isn’t it? He wanted to play - you’re playing.

You’re grunting soft yourself with way he’s pumping his fingers in deep; searching and stroking and  _curling._ He moves to brush your hair back, pulling the curtain of it up and over your eyes, blunt nails scratching over your scalp. He gives you a sharp tug that sends pleasure glittering over your skull and down your spine, makes you clamp  _hard_  around his now-spread fingers.

You dive down, lips stretched and jaw slack, let the salty warmth of him drag against your tongue. You still when your lips meet the curl of your fingers, and Dean’s hips twitch at the wet constriction of your throat. You glide back, keep your cheeks tight and hollowed until your lips are flared over the crown.

Dean’s fingers have stopped their thrusting - just lay buried in the slick heat of you, and his free hand lays lax and tangled in your hair. He’s bowed up tight and lock-jawed in his own want, and it emboldens you.

You bear down on his hand just as your mouth slicks back down to your grip on him, and it makes his hips lurch again, makes his fingers scrunch in the wild mess of your hair. You start a rhythm of fucking yourself down his fingers while you swallow him down over and over. Your bicep burns with the effort of it, starts to shake underneath your weight, but the desperate sounds billowing from deep in his chest enliven you, and you find yourself fucking faster, sucking harder.

“Fuck-” Dean chokes, belly tight. “Gonna - fuck, m’gonna come-”

You drag your lips up and off of him with a wet, fleshy pop, then let your hand continue your mouth’s work. “Wantcha to,” you whisper over the flushed tip, keep your hips cranking down on his fingers. “In my mouth.”

“Oh f-” Dean grunts out, hips surging. He twitches in your fist, and the hand cradling your skull pushes you down. You drop your jaw, and close your lips around him, slide  _down, down, down-_

And then he’s spurting over your tongue; thick, salty wet splashing against your throat. You swallow it down, lips still tight around his still-pulsing shaft, then slowly drag off of him, and draw back to your haunches.

He’s still panting, eyes glazed, cock soft against his belly. “Holy shit,” Dean breathes, gaping up at you as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “That was-”

“Delicious,” you finish, beaming as you drop to curl into his side. You bask in the warmth of him for a moment, get your palm on his chest, and thumb little designs into the firm skin there. It’s strange how comfortable it is, like you’ve fucked for a decade. You’re still wet and achy between the thighs, but you’re content to just lay here with him - to just be.

Dean hefts himself up suddenly, and your hand reluctantly slips away from him. “Where are you going?”

“Here,” Dean says, and turns to nestle between your legs. He drops down to his forearms, then dips down to lick at your lips. You part them eagerly, groan into the wet warmth of him as his tongue slides over yours. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, the kind that snatches your breath right out of your chest. You get your hands on his biceps, fingers gliding over the hard dips of them, then smooth your palms up to his massive shoulders.

You’re both breathless when he breaks away, and he gives you a lazy grin as he starts to elbow his way down - and god - that has you erupting in prickling heat, has your cunt throbbing. He kisses you open-mouthed between your tits, then drags his lips soft down the length of your belly. He nips you at your pelvic bone, and flicks his eyes up to yours. You grin giddy - so surreal that this is even happening - and snag your lip between your teeth.

He gets his hands on your hips, fingers pressing, and flattens his tongue right over your clit-

“Shit!” you hiss; wet, hot, and sensitive, and Dean grins behind his tongue. He dips down lower, licks you hot from entrance back to clit, and your belly smolders and rolls. You get the sheets scrunched up in your fists, hips helplessly humping up into his face; stubble exquisitely abrasive against the damp soft between your legs. Dean takes quick note of the way you’re gasping and twitching, burrows deeper into you - and slowly drags his chin down low enough that you know you’re smearing him shiny-wet. He comes back up, lets you feel the scrape as he goes, and then he’s pursing his lips around your pulsing clit.

Your knuckles threaten to crack with the way they’re wrenched into the bedding, and you’re still lurching up desperately, but he just seals his lips tight and  _sucks._

Your orgasm is zipping up at a blinding rate, your mind already clouding up with the foggy pleasure of it, but then he gets two fingers at your drenched entrance - and pushes  _in_. He presses his lips together then,  _hard_ , rolling your clit between the taut cushions of them, and crooks his fingers in a way that ignites your blood.

He starts to pump, and that has you squirming, has you keening and squeaking his name. You get your hands on his head, curl your fingers into the velvety soft of his hair as he wrings you hotter and tighter-

“Fuck - Dean! Please-please-pleaseee!” You’re right there, right on that sugary edge, but you need something - just a little  _more_.

Dean grunts into you, the rumble of it settling into blood and bone, and then he shifts, gets up on an elbow, and pumps fierce and  _fast._

You come hard; writhing and humping, clit still snug and stinging between those perfect lips. He draws back, fingers slowing, and then pulls away.

“Wow, wow, wow…” you groan once he’s scootched up next to you. He hums, gets a heavy hand on your cheek, and tilts your face to his, and kisses you lazy and deep like you’ve done this a thousand times before.

You pull away, thumb the plump of his bottom lip. “We should play poker everyday,” you breathe, smiling easy.

“We should,” Dean agrees, combs tacky fingers through your hair. “And next time?” He grins wide, emerald pools sparkling. “Next time m’gonna fuck ya til ya can’t walk.”


End file.
